


Going On Living

by elisi



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike shanshued, and he and Buffy try to live happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Picture is a Thousand Words... (or you know, a lot more.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Spike and Buffy's 10th wedding anniversary.

The wind whips its fresh cold fingers through his hair, the sunshine sparks off every surface of the car and the woman at his side is looking utterly stunning and ever so slightly terrified.

"Can we please slow down now?" she asks after another few miles, and, being unable to resist that tiny quiver in her voice, he complies and lessens the speed. She takes a deep breath and looks around at the calm beauty of the landscape, a more solid smile on her face. But the peace is immediately broken by loud protests from the back seat. Spike grins to himself, because his boys know exactly what a sports car is for, even if their mother doesn't. She thinks it's pretty of course, but on the whole she finds it too expensive, too fast, too impractical and - most importantly - too dangerous. Which coming from a Slayer is kinda ironic. And recently she pointed out that if the boys grew just another inch they wouldn't actually _fit_ in the back anymore, because it is so tiny.

"Well then - looks like you won't be having greens anymore!" he'd told them solemnly, and then she'd punched him.

Without turning he tells them to shut up, and lets the car slow down to a crawl as he reaches out and brushes a stray brown lock off Buffy's shoulder. She is eyeing herself critically in the mirror and he knows that she is soon going to tell him that the wind has ruined her hair - but he gets his shot in first and tells her that she is beautiful... just as beautiful as ten years ago. And then all the memories come flooding back and she forgets that she was going to be a little mad at him.

***

 

Of course ten years ago she was still a blonde - as was he. The wedding photos on the mantle still make him shake his head as he contemplates their white golden glory (she'd insisted he wear a white suit - he warned the guests they'd better bring sunglasses). Although before and after the big day they'd usually paired up the hair with black.

It's often said, he knows, that having children will give you grey hair, but so far it's just turned them both back into brunettes. He still recalls the evening when the twins had been around 2 months old and by some miracle had both been asleep at the same time. The two of them had collapsed on the sofa, and he'd dragged a tired hand across his face. "This sure as hell wasn't mentioned in the 'Happily Ever After' brochure," he said and she'd laughed a little, before getting up and studying herself in the mirror above the fireplace, making a tiny little whimpering sound at the back of her throat.

"I am a walking haystack! No - I am a crawling-on-hands-and-knees-haystack with sleep-deprivation. They never mentioned this part in the antenatal classes - produce children, become haystack. And look at those roots!"

She made a face and defeatedly slumped back down next to him. "None of the other mums look like haystacks! I am a failure. No goldstar for Buffy. I mean I can look good in _an apocalypse_..."

"Grow it out," he'd replied, somewhat illogically, and she'd turned her head with a frown. "The hair, love. Grow it out. I've never seen your natural colour. Well not on your head anyway!" He'd sent her a suggestive look and she'd giggled an actual proper giggle.

"And, did I ever tell you that I have a thing for haystacks? Especially ones as beautiful as you..."

"You're insane! And you're too tired to see straight!" she replied, before curling up to him, lacing their fingers together. And then his chest had constricted and his heart started beating in that way that still made him acutely aware of the gift he'd been given.

***

 

Sensing the beginnings of another argument, he stares down the two most obstinate 5 year olds ever born in the mirror. "Please remember that this car has no roof! Anythin' you throw out will be lost _forever_! And I'm _not_ buyin' you new Nintendo's if you lose the ones you've got!"

A whiny chorus of "Daaaa-aaaad!" promptly starts up, and he narrows his eyes. "Do I have to remind you what _I_ had to play with when I was a boy?"

"Muuuuum! Make Daddy stop!" one of them complains, and he grins. Although one of these days he must get hold of some tin soldiers to show them that they really can be fun.

"You dad is right!" Buffy replies sternly.

Sullen silence greets this announcement, and seeing Buffy sigh Spike knows he has to think of something to keep them occupied before they begin trying to throw _each other_ out.

"Right - who remembers what a T'lasha demon looks like?"

There's a moment, then they slowly reply.

"They're small. Like... dog-sized."

"An' they've got 4 arms with _nasty horrible_ claws!"

"An' - an' they're green, but with blue horns and when they're killed they go 'pop'!"

Giggles accompany the last line, but Spike just nods solemnly. "Good. Now T'lashas like to live in hedges, and usually hang out dead birds and the like around their homes to warn off other demons. Try an' see how many nests you can spot!"

Excitement greets this proposal, and a happy air of observation grips the back seat, occasionally broken by exclamations and vocal pointing.

Buffy turns to him and mouths a silent "How much of that is true?", and he shrugs. Doesn't matter, as long as it'll keep them quiet until they reach their destination - thank goodness for England's endless countryside hedges.

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment he drinks in the sight of his wife. She still makes him catch his breath - makes him wonder if this whole glorious life they have together is just a dream or a fantasy. Only he's fairly certain that fantasies never come quite this scary - just the word 'colic' can still send both of them into a cold sweat. Vampires, demons, hellgods - any and all of it they'd faced down together, but two tiny little fragile beings, terrifying them with the love they inspired and wrecking them by never ever sleeping for nigh on four months, had been something else altogether.

***

 

He vividly recalls the night Angel had come to visit, back when the twins had only been a few weeks old. Angel would have come sooner, but he and Faith (only friends! Honestly!) had been halfway around the world doing something brave and foolhardy, and had only just arrived back in old Blighty. Faith was injured and Angel had forced her to rest, or she would have come too.

There had been a knock at the door at half-past eleven at night, and Spike had put down the screaming bundle he was carrying and gone to answer it. Angel been very apologetic.

"Did I wake them?" he asked, his face looking worried at the wailing that greeted him.

Spike had just shaken his head, and then Buffy called out, asking who it was.

"It's the man from the circus, love, come to negotiate a price!"

Buffy had appeared behind him, a protesting infant on her shoulder, and shot Angel a droll look.

"You can have them for free!"

Angel had brought with him many congratulations and presents, and then tried to demonstrate his fatherhood credentials by rocking one of the gruesome twosome for half an hour, with no result whatsoever.

"Connor never had colic..." he began, but whatever he would have said next died on his lips as he saw the look on Buffy's face.

When Angel left a few hours later, Spike was sure he detected a distinct look of relief on the other's face. Leaning against the door after saying goodbye, Spike had tried to recall what life had been like before - when his (un)life had consisted of drinking, fighting and killing things, and he'd been able to go where he wanted, when he wanted. When loving someone had meant dying for them, not being so exhausted that he could barely walk. What had happened to him? Was it this hard for all humans?

***

 

They're nearing their destination now, and Spike settles down more snugly in the comfy seat. He can tell that Buffy is getting a little cold - her little wraparound thing is pretty, but not very warm, and he'd offer her his jacket if they weren't so close to their destination. It's a nice jacket, if he says so himself, and he's just about become accustomed to it now - the duster having hung in the cupboard for many years. Dawn had said that the new jacket made him look like he had a midlife crisis, and he'd pointedly answered that what with being around 160 that was hardly surprising. Buffy however had remarked that it made him look not entirely unlike James Dean, and so the jacket had stayed. Today it is paired with blue jeans, black T-shirt and a black hoodie - not exactly the height of sophistication, but then Buffy's dress is stunning enough for the both of them. And if he'd dressed up, she'd have worked out that something was up. So casual is the name of the game, even if he had eyed the duster wistfully when he got ready to go.

***

 

But the fact is that the duster is crammed too full of memories for today's celebration - it is like a symbol of how far he's travelled, how much he's changed. And it is too firmly rooted in who he was to be comfortable now... Looking back, he remembers practically living in it after he'd first become human, trying to cling to what he'd known, what was familiar, when at first it seemed that what he'd lost was immeasurable. To be ordinary, with no powers or purpose... to have senses so blunt he felt deaf and blind and like someone had cut off his nose... No, he didn't feel that the shanshu was so much a reward as some horrible prank. He'd understood Anya better than he'd ever thought possible, and fervently wished she'd still been alive.

Angel had tried reasoning with him ("_You coped with being **a ghost!** And you **beat** me to the Cup of Torment! This is what you **wanted**, you moron!"_), and then called Buffy who'd arrived and promptly scooped him up, the way she always did everything that ever came her way. It had however taken a long, long time before he had been able to accept her declarations of love as anything other than pity - how she'd put up with him he'd never understand.

Only time had done many things he could never have guessed - above all it had revealed the blessings that he'd first thought curses. Memory for one thing...

Human memory was, like everything else, something fuzzy and imprecise compared to the crystal clear recollection of vampires. But as time passed he had found that the blood on his hands slowly faded away... and as it did, the guilt lifted and he was able to see more clearly what it meant to be human - something he'd forgotten in the intervening century, something that the demon had obliterated.

***

 

And as he looks at his family on this glorious spring day, he feels more a part of this world than he had ever been able to as a vampire. He's managed to connect to his old human self, to rediscover the dreams that once spurred him onwards. Because this is what he was raised be: A husband and father. He wistfully thinks how utterly delighted his mother would have been if she could have seen his beautiful family.

Shortly afterwards he smoothly pulls in by a halfway house, apparently in response to the twins' sudden loud shouts for food. Couldn't have timed it better if he'd bribed them. A little later they walk through an innocent looking door and the room on the other side explodes with joyous yells of 'Surprise!' and 'Happy Anniversary!'

Buffy's eyes glint dangerously as she turns to him. "You planned this all along!"

His only reply is a smug grin, and then there are people upon people ready to hug them and presents to unwrap and that killer right hook is going to have to wait until later... when it will magically have turned into something very different, hopefully incorporating the negligée he's bought her...

As Buffy ooohs and aaahs over the presents, Spike sidles away and catches the boys, dragging them into a corner and giving them his 'screw with me and you're _dead!'_ look that never failed when applied to minions, and works surprisingly well on his human offspring too.

"Right you two - here's how it is. This is a _very, very special day _for mummy and daddy, as you know. And if you _in any way _upset your mother - and _I don't care_ who starts it - you're not going to stay with Uncle Xander tonight! Am I making myself clear?"

They both nod silently.

"Good."

He smiles - somewhat grimly - and keeps holding their attention. "Now I don't care if you eat nothin' except ice cream, or if you keep Xander up all night... but _do not fight_ or even _think_ about doin' anything naughty until the party is over, got it?"

They nod again, and his smile turns secretive. "That's my boys. And remember those new moves I taught you? I'm sure Xander would _love_ you to show him tonight!"

Identical evil grins spread across their little faces, and his heart feels like it's going to explode. And since he's actually experienced that once, he knows what he's on about. Thankfully though, fatherly pride isn't going to kill him.

"Good boys!" he says, ruffling their hair, and sends them off to Willow who always adores them for all of five minutes before she remembers just what little hellraisers they are.

Presents and chatter is followed by a long, leisurely dinner, and to Spike's great relief the boys appear to be behaving - the only one making a noise being Dawn's little Alice, but then at 6 months old that can't be helped.

When the plates have been removed, he takes a deep breath and slowly stands up. Odd how he sometimes still gets surprised by the reactions of his body - the heart speeding up, the slight perspiration. Buffy's watching him quizzically, and he sends her a tiny smile as he leans forward and taps his glass. Silence slowly spreads throughout the room and then every face is turned towards him. A waiter very helpfully brings an ancient microphone and he smiles gratefully - he has a horrible feeling that his voice will be closer to a whisper before he gets to the end.

As he reaches into his pocket for his new poem, he says a few words about how important this day is for him and Buffy, thanking them all for coming - funny how this is something that would have been near-identical back when he was first human. Then he slowly unfolds the paper, even though he knows the words by heart. He's spent months writing this, even though it isn't long - but then how is he supposed to ever be able to encapsulate what the woman at his side means to him?

There is an odd flutter in his stomach as he realises he's never recited any of his own poetry to a crowd since the day before the battle against the Black Thorn. He'd thought it'd a goodbye to life; a last, final visit to his roots before the end. Instead it had been a return to the beginning, a foreshadowing of where his life was heading. For a moment he stares ahead; unseeing, lost to the world. Because suddenly it comes to him that it has been very nearly 20 years since he first came to Sunnydale. A simple trip to the darkest place he knew... and instead he'd found light, brighter than he could have envisaged. A fire that had torn through him, re-making and changing him... burning, always burning, with a pain and joy he could never have imagined.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/elisi/pic/0002c80w/)

 

He closes his eyes, takes a breath. Focus. Focus. He looks at the paper, then takes another steadying breath before glancing at Buffy... and everything goes still. He reads slowly, carefully, never taking his eyes off her face - there's him, and there's her, and the rest of the world has stopped existing.

When he's finished she stands up, unable to speak, and just kisses him - deeply, slowly, and with that intense longing that never gets sated. She's so soft, so warm and pliable in his arms, and as always he's astonished at the heat between them. The life that pulses though them both, two hearts beating together. He's discovered the truth in every sentimental love song, the fact that every romantic sonnet ever written speaks directly to him. To them.

Of course before long the boys start complaining, and they part, slowly turning to take in their offspring - one of whom is pretending to throw up and the other one trying to strangle himself, complete with rolling eyes and lolling tongue. Then they suddenly realise that there's actual applause starting, and Spike grins before turning back to his wife.

Can it really have been ten years already since their vows? Feels like less. Feels like more. Time is such a strange creature, one that is forever slipping through his fingers these days. And yet - being held hostage by time has enabled him to hold onto the people he loves. They are his, and he is theirs, and not even the Powers That Be can now take them from him.

"I love you," she says, tears still in her eyes, before grasping his hand. And he holds onto her, as though the world were falling apart. "I know you do," he replies softly, the smallest of smiles on his face. "But thanks for saying it."


	2. I didn't know it'd feel like this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Buffy become parents. It is not what Spike expected.

"So... worse than dying?" Spike tries to keep his voice light, and isn't quite sure if he succeeds.

"Oh _god_ yes! Dying was _fast_!" Buffy replies immediately, then closes her eyes against the next contraction. Swallowing, Spike prepares for his hand to be pulverised yet again. He wants to remind her that he's only human now and pain is a lot more acute than before... but he can't really do it.

And it's not just the hand crushing that's causing internal conflict. His Victorian half is saying that this is all ridiculous, and why can't they just have a nice, simple home birth - babies were born for millennia without all this medical fuss. Hadn't done _him_ any harm to be born at home...

But his other half wants to go looking for the best paediatrician in the whole place and chain him-or-her to Buffy's bed, along with a small medical team, just in case anything goes wrong. Because Buffy is having _his_ children... and twin births, everyone agrees, are more complicated. Why didn't they just decide to have Caesarian?

He can't remember ever being this terrified.

And what the hell is up with this taking hours and hours? In the movies and on TV the women always go "Oh no, the baby is coming!" and then two minutes later someone is telling them to push. And it's been eight hours now since her waters broke...

Gently he brushes a lock of hair off Buffy's sticky forehead and kisses her.

"I look awful, don't I?" she says ruefully, and if he was capable of being objective, he'd have to say yes. But he's never been objective. And as he looks at her now, he feels only admiration for his wife - the word still makes him shiver with joy - who's been struggling all though the night... it'll be dawn in less than an hour. The midwife has said that the babies will probably be arriving in not too long, and it feels right - new day, new beginning.

And then suddenly lots of things are happening all at once. More people arrive - including a paediatrician - and funnily enough it doesn't make him feel any safer. Quite the opposite in fact, and Buffy begins to look as worried as he feels, before shrugging it off and getting on with her job. And all of a sudden there's a wail and he's holding a tiny bundle.

He stares down at the little face and can't quite grasp what this means. He's been so focussed on Buffy that somehow the babies never really became real. And now... the little fella is hardly the most beautiful individual he's ever laid eyes on, being somewhat squashed and bright red, but it makes no difference. Softly Spike takes hold of a tiny hand and sits down on the side of the bed to show Buffy how amazing their son is.

Their eyes meet, and they don't need any words. Then she presses hers tightly shut, getting ready for the second one.

And then there were two.

The midwife happily obliges when they ask her to take a few pictures, and it's all in all the most amazing day in Spike's entire life...

He sits by Buffy's side as they study the perfection that they're holding and try to see if their two little boys can be told apart. One of them tries a yawn, waving his little hands in the process, and they're sure no baby has ever been this amazing.

The big influx leaves and the midwife is quietly cleaning up as they sit discussing names and plans. This new adventure is incredible - frightening and exhilarating in equal measures - and they're trying to work out where they go from here.

Spike isn't quite sure how to deal with this - this love. He thought he knew all about love, in all its shapes and forms. But here he is, watching two little boys barely fifteen minutes old, and he knows that there's nothing he wouldn't do for them. It feels like... like all his insides have been rearranged. No one ever told him that becoming a father was such an immediate, total surrender - like falling in love. Yes, he decides, that's the only description that fits.

He reaches out, strokes a cheek so soft that rabbit fur is like wire wool in comparison. And then...

_His hands, blood-smeared and nails painted black, holding a screaming infant. A moment's consideration - then he rips its throat out._

With a gasp he is back in the bright white of the hospital room, heart beating wildly and cold shivers going through him, and both Buffy and the midwife are looking at him worriedly.

"William - it is William, right? - are you a'right? When was the last time you had anything to eat?"

He stares back at the woman, trying to gather his thoughts. She's a hospital midwife, not the one they've been seeing throughout the pregnancy, and they only met her last night. There was some sort of explanation for this odd way of doing things that he can't quite remember, except that he thought it idiotic at the time, but right now he's just grateful that she doesn't know that his nickname is 'Spike'.

"Yes... William. And..." he frowns, trying to think, but Buffy thankfully answers the question.

"We've not really had anything since last night. And then we just grabbed half a slice of pizza each because we were rushing out the door."

The midwife smiles; calm, reassuring, slightly overbearing. "Don't worry, it's not the first time I've had a new father going faint on me. They never realise that they have to look after themselves too. Tell you what William-" she glances at the large clock on the wall, "the cafeteria should be open now. Why don't you go down and have a good solid breakfast? I'll make sure to look after your wife, promise!"

He looks at Buffy, who nods firmly. "Go. Eat. Relax."

He knows the look in her eyes, and they share a kiss before he hands over his baby to the midwife.

"And," Buffy says, "I have people to call!" She points towards the phone in the corner and smiles mischievously.

He smiles back, trying not to show how unstable he still feels. Then he grabs his denim jacket, checking to make sure that his mobile and wallet are still in the pockets, and, with a last lingering glance, leaves.

He knows where the cafeteria is, but heads towards the main entrance instead, stopping only to buy a breakfast bar and a can of cola from a vending machine. Quick energy, because he does need something.

The cool morning air hits him as he goes through the automatic doors, and with a smile he sees that the sun is almost peering over the horizon. He walks along the large building until he finds a nice secluded bench, and enjoys the first rays of sunshine as he swiftly eats. It is still a thrill, this living in the light, that almost ten years of being human have yet to diminish.

Then, knowing that not all the sunshine in the world can cancel out the darkness of his past, he takes out his phone and dials Angel's number.

It takes a while before there's an answer. Finally however Spike hears a click and a muffled "Hello?"

"Hello," he answers drily, "it's supposed to be evening where you are, how come you're still in bed, Lazypants?"

Angel says "Spike?", but then there's a sudden rustling noise, and Faith's eager voice comes across clearly.

"Spike! Have the babies arrived? How's Buffy?"

He smiles and answers her excited questions, before finally getting one of his own through. "But tell me Faith - how come you and the mighty broody one are sharing a bed? Decided that all the 'being friends' was gettin' old?"

There's dirty chuckle, and then a sigh. "We're here incognito, and are posing as a married couple. But - apart from stealing the covers - he's been the perfect gentleman. You know what he's like."

Leaning back on the bench, Spike grins wickedly. "As far as _I_ recall he was a drunken, whoring layabout who never did an honest day's work in his life!"

Faith guffaws, then replies archly, "I wasn't talking about Angelus!"

"Neither was I!" he counters, then takes a deep breath, knowing he can't postpone the real reason for the call much longer - and remembering a certain conversation from many years ago, he knows what to do about Faith's problem. "You want things to... _develop_, buy him a bullwhip and take it from there!"

Having momentarily made her incapable of anything except spluttering, he asks if she could hand Angel over, and she does so obligingly.

Angel proceeds to wish both him and Buffy many congratulations, and then bids good-bye to Faith, who's off to find something eat.

"OK, she's gone," Angel says, and Spike sighs deeply, closing his eyes and letting the cool early spring sun caress his face.

"How do you do it?" he asks simply, and there's a long pause at the other end.

"Which part?" Angel finally asks, and Spike sits forward, studying his right hand in the clear light... it is warm, alive, with a couple of scars gathered in the last few years. And yet it is the same hand. The same hand that-

"The part where you love them so much it chokes you, and you realise just what you did every time you stole a child from their parents..."

He can't continue. Tears are burning behind his eyes, and he wishes fervently that Dru hadn't had a thing for children...

"Have you... talked to Buffy about it?" Angel asks cautiously, and Spike shakes his head.

"She's overwhelmed enough, even without me reminding her that I used to think of children as handy, portable snacks."

Self-loathing rips through him, cold and harsh, as memory after memory resurfaces.

_A little girl - maybe 3 - in a simple, oft-mended dress, drained and then discarded by the roadside; a baby boy of only a few months, with soft, downy curls on his head and dimpled cheeks, who spent three days as Dru's 'living doll' before she tired of him; a tiny infant, torn from its mother for sport and then casually ripped apart..._

"There were so many..." his voice is barely above a whisper, and it takes a while before Angel replies.

"I thought you said that the memories were fading?"

"They are. I can't even remember them all anymore. But shouldn't I? No one else ever will... I _ought_ to remember them!"

There is silence at the other end. Spike swallows. "Sorry... didn't mean to dump it all on you. It's just... I didn't know it'd feel like this. And there's no one else."

"I know," Angel replies, then after a small hesitation continues. "The last thing Darla said to me before-" He stops, starts again. "The last thing Darla said to me was, _'This child - it's the one good thing we ever did together. The **only** good thing.'_ Spike... we can never make up for what we did. But your children - they are a chance to do something right."

Spike slowly nods as the words sink in. "Thank you."

"No problem." Angel pauses, then continues, voice lighter. "We should be done here in another week or two, and we'll head right back to England and come visit. And... what exactly did you say to Faith? She gave me a really weird look before she left."

Spike almost smiles. "Consider it a little helping hand - don't worry, you'll soon see."

"H'm." Angel doesn't sound convinced, but Spike takes a deep breath and gets up. "Sorry mate, have to get back. And... you sure you're going to be OK, just the two of you?"

He remembers a little about their mission, and it seems a fun, but foolhardy, adventure. Angel however is upbeat about it, and a moment later they say good bye.

Spike stops for a moment by the glass doors, watching his reflection. He's used to it now, the way he is followed in every mirror and window by a shadow.... like there's two of him - new and old, living and dead, good and bad. But which is which he's not really sure.

Shaking off the strange thoughts he goes back inside, turning off the mobile as he does so. And musing on Angel's mission, he figures that he really _has_ adjusted to human life - because although he would once have given his eye-teeth to be in on the fun, now he can't think of anywhere he'd rather be than with his family, despite the distinct lack of fighting and death-defying stunts.

And then he's rushing up the stairs to see his little boys again, because with a jolt he realises that he's been gone for 15 minutes and that amounts to maybe a third of their lives.

He finds Buffy in the middle of devouring a full English breakfast. Sitting down next to her he steals a hash brown and a sausage, being somewhat famished still. The babies are snuggled up in little clear plastic cots that are pulled right up to the bed, and for a while all they can do is just look at them. It's been only the two of them for nearly eight years, and all of a sudden being twice that number is going to take some serious getting used to.

Then Spike shifts his attention to Buffy, who looks exhausted - and yet triumphant. Hair a mess and make-up smudged, she looks just the same way he's so often seen her after a big battle... And that's what this is, he realises - a battle. If a very different one from those she's fought so far. And he has the strangest sensation of the world having simultaneously grown bigger and smaller.

Buffy looks at him, her smile is a little wobbly.

"We can do this, right?"

He thinks back to his conversation with Angel, to all the things he's been told about Connor... the miracle child, named in numerous prophecies - the lives of countless people manipulated and destroyed to bring him into the world. 'Born' in an alley in the rain, fought over by worshippers and killers alike, stolen away, raised in a helldimension...

And he thanks the Powers that his children aren't 'special'.

Silently he pulls Buffy into his arms, and she's such a perfect fit - as always. He can't begin to describe all the things she is to him - saviour, lover, wife, mother of his children... Together they have faced down the armies of hell, so surely they can do what every other parent of the planet does. Fighting against the lump in his throat, he answers. (_A chance to do something right..._)

"Of course we can."

Buffy sighs deeply and rests her head on his chest. But he knows that in reality he's the one drawing strength from her. Silently he looks over her head, taking in their little boys in their cots and knows that they're all theirs. Their - _his_ \- responsibility.

He has held the fate of the world in his hands, died to save creation, and yet that burden had been easy to bear. He smiles as he remembers Buffy's words from earlier on... because dying _had_ been fast. This burden however is one he'll be carrying every day for the rest of his life, and it'll be nothing as simple as swinging a sword or burning up. _'Of course we can'_ still rings in his ears, and he's not at all sure he can do this. All the things he's done and been - can he be a good father? Can he teach these boys what's important in life, be a good rolemodel? His own father died when he was young, and his only major male influence later was Angelus...

For a moment he feels overwhelmed, but then takes a deep breath and clamps down on the feeling. He owes it to Buffy and his boys to cope. And he owes it to every child he ever killed to be the best father he can.

For a while they sit together in perfect stillness, almost falling asleep in the quiet peace. Then abruptly the calm is interrupted when one of the twins starts crying. A second later the other one's eyes snap open, and then there's a chorus of screams...

*

Three weeks later, Spike can vaguely recall that he had some noble motive or other attached to this fatherhood thing. But the only thought that his hazy, barely-functioning brain is able to process is a fervent, desperate prayer: _'Dear God, for the sake of all that is holy - please, please let them sleep for more than half an hour!'_


End file.
